


nobody puts baby in a corner

by loverloverlover



Category: Addicted Series - Krista Ritchie & Becca Ritchie, Calloway Sisters - Krista Ritchie & Becca Ritchie, Like Us Series - Krista Ritchie & Becca Ritchie
Genre: Dancing, Drinking, F/M, lunnelly, sinful like us
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 16:15:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20660069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loverloverlover/pseuds/loverloverlover
Summary: the scotland pub scene from sinful like us where thatcher spies luna and donnelly dancing like they're the only ones in the room; told from luna's pov.[title from the movie 'dirty dancing' (1987)]





	nobody puts baby in a corner

**Author's Note:**

> this probably has some grammatical errors, but she's as ready as she'll ever be to be out in the world. for the purpose of this fic, will rochester doesn't exist bc who needs him?? no one. and definitely not sulli smh

_“Unholy…_

_Fuck._

_In the darkened corner of the pub, Luna Hale is dirty-dancing with Donnelly. The kind of sloppy dancing you’d see at closing times from trashed guys and girls._

_But her and him—they’re completely sober._

_He cups her ass with two hands, holding her like I’m holding Jane, only she bounces on his lap to the beat of the music, and he sings the blaring song with Luna.”_

* * *

The Scotland air was crisp, clean, and fucking freezing. Luna Hale had loved it the moment she’d stepped off the private plane and into the snow-flurried air—in that moment, everything somehow immediately became easier and softer. She’d been in Scotland for a few days now, scouting wedding locations for her big brother and generally enjoying the company of her fellow travelers, and this sense of surety—of safety and comfort—had yet to leave her. At first, she’d thought this feeling had been brought on simply because she was still surrounded by family and friends, as that was her everyday life. It didn’t take her long to realize, however, that it was the absence of a certain group of society that allowed her to breathe easier. She had not seen a single paparazzi since she’d disembarked the Cobalt jet, and this lack of notoriety was a first for her.

Maybe this was why she wasn’t completely dismissing the idea of walking up to Donnelly, pulling him aside, and kissing the utter _shit_ out of him. Neither the bartender or the two other Scotland residents seemed the least bit interested in her or her family’s presence—nor did they give a single fuck that Donnelly was a bodyguard and Luna was a ‘famous one’ and that their attraction to each other was a taboo subject. Not to mention, her family and everyone else were wrapped up in the moment and the drinks—hell, even Akara had a beer in his hand. So really, if this wasn’t the time to lay one on him, when would it come?

The music in the classic Scottish pub was blaring, and Luna had been sitting with Sulli, Akara, and the Oliveras for the better part of an hour—chatting about everything and nothing. For the entirety of that same hour, she and Donnelly had been stealing glances at each other from across the bar—none too subtly, either, as she was sure they’d both readily admit. Luna was as sober as a dog, and she’d been watching closely enough to know that Donnelly was only on his second beer.

He looked even more attractive than usual tonight—something she didn’t previously believe possible, but also something she was constantly being surprised by. The glow of his tattoos in the warm low-lighting, the tiny glint of the small white diamond in his ear, the confident and shameless way he was fucking around with Farrow and Moffy… all this combined with his permanently disheveled (amazingly soft) hair, Donnelly was a walking aphrodisiac. He was pure sex-on-a-stick, and the longer Luna looked him over, the less she cared about the small white lie she’d told her cousin, Jane.

At the time, when Jane had accidently barged in on her and Donnelly and caught them red handed, it really _was_ supposed to be a one-time thing between them. She’d been firm in her decision to continue her one-night stands, and her question of Donnelly being her baseline had no ulterior motive. It hadn’t been an excuse she’d used to get him to have sex with her—if it were, there were much easier and frankly less _obvious_ ways she could go about it. She’d truly thought he was the best person to ask, and she was decidedly not wrong. Because it was _great._ It was better than great—it was fucking fantastic—and she didn’t see any reason not to continue hooking up. Donnelly certainly didn’t have any complaints, and as far as Luna was concerned, it was their business and their business only.

The topic at their table had turned to dancing, and Luna was quick to voice her excitement at the idea. She always loved the chance to dance ridiculously with her family, but there was a different idea of dancing in her mind at the moment. She made eye-contact with Donnelly again—pointed eye-contact this time, and she tried to add some _come hither_ to her stare but was sure she didn’t at all pull it off—before jumping to her feet with Sulli. She was antsy to get some of this pent-up energy out of her system. She pulled Joana Olivera with her to the make-shift dancefloor, and her new friend was already singing along at the top of her lungs—her grip on Luna’s hands strong and sure. Sulli joined them next, somehow coaxing her bodyguard into following her. Akara grabbed one of Sulli’s hands and twirled her around and around and around—completely off beat to the music. Luna smiled at the happiness on her cousin’s face.

More and more of their group began to join them, but Donnelly was slow to his feet. Luna was watching him move—just walk, really—and she wondered if she actually _had_ drunk something and somehow blocked the entire experience from her memory. She _felt_ drunk when she watched him, and though it wasn’t an altogether bad feeling, she forced her attention onto the others dancing with her, lest she lose her footing.

It wasn’t five minutes later, though, that Donnelly appeared on the dance floor beside her.

One second she was jumping around with Sulli, Joana, and an odd assortment of SFO, and the next second Donnelly was all she could see or feel or smell. He invaded all her senses as he pressed up against her back, and Luna leaned back into him—tilting her head up to run her nose down the length of his neck and subtly pushing them away from the crowd. His hands—slim tattooed fingers, chipped black nail polish, a bent pinkie finger—were holding securely to her waist, to her hips. Slowly, and likely more inconspicuously than she had been, he maneuvered them into a darker corner of the dancefloor.

Once there, she turned to face him and his hands trailed slowly—sensuously—up her back and down her sides, like he was reacquainting himself with the shape of her body. Goosebumps broke out across her flesh despite the heat of both the pub and his hands. She wrapped her arms comfortably around his neck and pulled herself closer to him. One of his hands skimmed his ass whilst he simultaneously pulled her even closer by the small of her back.

As she looked up into his face, she couldn’t help but smile at the brightness in his eyes. It had been a few weeks since he’d looked this light and carefree. She knew there was a shit-ton of unpleasantness in his life at the moment, what with his father and an upcoming parole hearing, and an even more sticky endeavor concerning his mother that he flat out refused to talk about. So watching him now, scream-singing the lyrics to a trashy pop song that she’d never expected him to know, she had never wanted to kiss him so badly.

Before she could lean onto her toes to do just that, he took the initiative and pressed his forehead to hers. But instead of kissing her, he started to dance—if you could call it that. She was so close to him it was as though there wasn’t a single point on her body that wasn’t touching his. He was swaying them to the music, but it was almost obscene the way he was moving them—really, their movements were better suited for a club with flashing lights—but here they were, with him holding her with two hands on her ass and her clinging to him like it’d be the death of her to let go even slightly.

Luna ran her hands through his chestnut har, her fingers catching on the small tangle of curls that always appeared at the nape of his neck. She swiped her nose against his and just breathed him in while he grinned shamelessly at her.

She began singing the lyrics right back him.

Luna realized then that they must look ridiculous—like sloppy drunks in a romcom movie—but she was stone cold sober and having the time of her life. Soon enough, she was laughing, and a split second of insecurity washed through her when she realized it was a strange time to have a laughing fit. But he just continued to smile at her—a true smile that showed his dimple and quirked his eyebrows—and his hands tightened their grip on her ass, taking her mind to _far_ different things in a _far_ emptier room… horizontal things… or non-horizontal things, as she really wasn’t that picky.

As they continued to look at each other, as they continued to dance, Luna realized something that should’ve already been clear. All her life, she’d been branded as the ‘weirdo’. She’d been called that and so much worse—so many times—that she’d decided to embrace the label—green markers, and stickers, and aliens, and all. That wasn’t to say she didn’t enjoy those things, because she did—immensely and completely—but her initial embracement of them, her initial decision not to give them up in the face of all that horrible criticism, had all began as a way for her to fit into the label that others had given her. Now though, as Donnelly briefly lifted his hand from her ass to flatten the star sticker on her cheekbone, she realized he wasn’t looking at her in only one way—he wasn’t labeling her.

She wasn’t ‘weird’. She wasn’t the girl who colored on her arms or the girl who used to be adamant that she was from an alien planet (and who honestly still felt that way sometimes). Nor was she the girl who doused herself in glitter on a whim or the one who donned a full spider-man suit as a way to hide from her problems.

She was just Luna.

When she leaned towards him for a kiss, tilting Donnelly’s chin down with her pointer finger and tightening her grip on his hair, she kept with her lifelong philosophy of not giving a fuck who saw her.

**Author's Note:**

> what do you know, they ended up in a corner jdskjd
> 
> thank you so much for reading!! comments and kudos will make happy brain chemicals
> 
> \---
> 
> 8/15/20 update: it's kelsey, quarantine edition, and this is now 400 words longer *jazz hands*


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